


Scorched Witch

by Alina_writes



Series: Rosemary is for rememberance [1]
Category: Giselle (Ballet)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Period-Typical Sexism, Supernatural - Freeform, Witchcraft, well she's not technically in the fic but you know what I mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:07:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4895806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alina_writes/pseuds/Alina_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before she burned, when asked for her last words, the witch looked at all of the villagers with her green eyes, and proclaimed that by condemning her to death, they had also condemned their own children to death. She cursed the men and their sons and the sons of their sons to be haunted by her ghost. She cursed whoever dared to tread on her grave to die with their feet broken and bloodied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorched Witch

    Every child in the village has, at least once in their life, heard of the legend of the Scorched Witch. It’s almost like an initiation: for you to become a member of the village, you must have heard the story. Even young Hilarion, whose family resides on the other side of the woods, grows up knowing not to approach the duck pond at night.

    There are a few variations, but below is the version that is the most told.

 

    Once upon a time, a witch lived in this very village. By day, she worked under the disguise of a normal healer; at night, she used her dark crafts to summon all manners of wicked beings, seeking a way to strengthen her powers. Unlike most witches, who used their powers to attract men to do their bidding, the witch was distant and cold toward every suitor who came to her cottage, turning them down one after the other.

    Women, however, seemed to have soft spot on her heart. On sunny afternoons, she could be seen doing laundry with the mothers by the stream, exchanging tips on how to rub off stains. She invited young women to dance with her when their work was done and the square was cleared. Little girls went to her cottage to have their hair braided in various styles and their heads filled with stories. Women came to her troubled or in need, and they left with a smile on their faces and a bounce in their steps. The men did not know how to make of this strange creature, but they supposed as long as she kept healing the sick and didn’t cause any trouble, there was nothing to be alarmed.

    But then the winter came.

    One by one, the children began to fall ill. Grief-stricken, the villagers turned to their beautiful healer, who had never failed them before. Little did they knew, it was all a part of her treacherous scheme. After consulting with her demonic minions, she had discovered the key to become invincible: the souls of innocent children. Every time she visited the children, a piece of their souls she took away.

    When none of the children seemed to be getting better, a courageous pastor started to suspect something was amiss. Mustering up his courage, he ventured into the healer’s cottage. To his horror, he found not only books on spells and incantations but instruments for summoning dark forces. When he went out into her garden, he discovered deadly plants hidden beneath harmless blossoms.

    The witch was soon captured and trialed. During the trial, she remained defiant and insisted that she was helping the children. Curious enough, she confessed to being a witch, but denied ever engaging in dark arts.

    Her words had little effect. As the evidence of her wicked deeds emerged, the villagers turned against her. The husband of the laundry woman described how his wife came home with lunatic ideas she heard from the witch. Old man Matthew wailed about his dead ox and how she must had been the cause of his misfortune. The gamekeeper told everyone how he saw her dancing with demons under the moonlight.

    And finally, the pastor stepped forth, and accused the witch of desecrating God by going to church wearing her impish smile and eyeing His image with her disrespectful expression.

    The women stood in the back, and held their tongues.

    Based on the towering accusations and incriminating evidence, the pastor sentenced the witch to be burned at a stake.

    Before she burned, when asked for her last words, the witch looked at all of the villagers with her green eyes, and proclaimed that by condemning her to death, they had also condemned their own children to death. She cursed the men and their sons and the sons of their sons to be haunted by her ghost. She cursed whoever dared to tread on her grave to die with their feet broken and bloodied.

    They threw her charred bones into a pit next to the duck pond when it was over, or, at least when they thought it was over.

    The pastor was found dead in the duck pond a week later. There weren’t much water in his lungs, but his feet were bloodied and blistered, as if he had been walking all night before he died.

    One of Old Man Matthew’s horses went into the forest and never came back. When the man himself went to investigate, he came back in the wee hours in the morning, his nerves in tatters and his legs all but ruined.

    The gamekeeper simply disappeared, leaving his wife and children to fend for themselves.

    The sick children perished, despite the demise of the witch. They were the color of charcoals when their mothers buried them.

 

    Gathered in the vineyard for the harvest, the young girls discussed their opinions on this tale.

    Red-head Heidi, the brash ringleader of the girls, claimed that the story was just something the adults made up to discourage them from trying sorcery.

    Perhaps the story is to tell them that women should just get married and stay silent, suggested small, wispy Irma.

    Giselle, seated on one of the carts they used to gather grapes, announced that she was in no danger of being ensnared by the witch, for she danced better than anyone, and she always braided her hair herself.

    They all laughed, and the Scorched Witch faded into the back of their minds again.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is sort of backstory for the character Myrtha, Queen of the Wills. It pains me to see so few fanfics for her, so I decided to do one for her.  
> Out of the Willis, I think Myrtha might be the one who suffered most, so much so that she is incapable of moving on. To me, she is less than a villain than a self-righteous spirit, lashing out at those who remind her of her own suffering.


End file.
